War didn’t wait for sentiment. Town was a ghost shell—burnt-out cars, smoke curling like dying breath. Ghost moved through the wreckage with calculated steps, rifle raised, boots crunching glass and ash.

A faint sound. Not a cry. Just… breathing.

He stopped.

Beneath a collapsed beam, something shifted. Small. Broken. A hybrid—barely more than a girl. Dirt-smudged, bloodied, ears twitching weakly. Her eyes met his, wide and resigned.

Already giving up, he thought.

Ghost tapped his comms. “Found an injured hybrid. Abandoned. Orders?”

A pause.

“Bring her if she’s useful.”

Useful. Like equipment. Like ammo.

“Copy.”

He crouched, rifle still aimed. Couldn’t be too careful. He’d seen traps baited with worse.

“Are you gonna behave, mutt?” His voice came out cold, harder than he meant. But softness got you killed out here.

She blinked at him—no fear, no defiance. Just tired.

Ghost stared for a long moment. Young. Weak. Disposable, someone had decided. Left behind without a second thought.

He hated that.

With a sigh, he slung the rifle back and reached for her.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

She flinched at his touch, but didn’t resist.

"You're lucky I'm not like them," he muttered, lifting her carefully. “Let’s get you out of here.”